


If It Really Matters

by epeolatry



Series: Sexual Revolution [7]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Puns, Blow Jobs, Body Shots, Couch Cuddles, Disney Movies, Drinking Games, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Het and Slash, Heterosexual Sex, M/M, Multi, Other, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:59:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeolatry/pseuds/epeolatry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Enjolras has a few drinks and Grantaire watches zero movies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If It Really Matters

A few weeks later Jehan, ever the orchestrator of mass gatherings, conspired with Musichetta to arrange a movie night to celebrate the last week of exams. As no one could refuse Jehan anything, even Enjolras had agreed (with a roll of his eyes) that the celebration could take place in the house shared by himself, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Marius, as it was the biggest space available, and the only one with a TV and more than one sofa.

 

Joly was the only person who really objected, as he was currently sleeping on one of the hijacked sofas; sharing a smaller flat with quiet little Jehan had seemed like a good idea at the beginning of the year, but after a few months of non-stop allergies triggered by the poet’s excessive scatterings of flowers throughout their flat – in vases, in pots, drying between the pages of text books, woven into crowns, and once even stuffed inside the medical student’s pillowcase – Joly had been forced to look for alternative accommodation. But despite his protests, the sofa was commandeered and the movie night confirmed.

 

When Musichetta rang the doorbell of the shared house unexpectedly early Enjolras was locked in his room determined to squeeze in another hour of revision before the party, Courfeyrac was singing loudly (and surprisingly tunefully) in the shower, Combeferre was out stocking up on snack foods, and Marius was picking up Cosette from her last class of the day (read: waiting to walk her the two streets back from the university to his house). That left Joly to answer the door to his old friend, who grinned and raised two large rucksacks which clinked promisingly, “Party time!”

 

“’Chetta,” Joly smiled uncertainly, “Good to see you. That’s not _all_ alcohol… Is it?”

 

“It certainly is!” grinned the curvy barmaid as she walked straight into the kitchen, dumped the bags on the countertop, and began unpacking bottle after bottle after bottle; wine, beer, tequila, vodka, gin, whiskey… And to Joly’s horror, two bottles of toxic-green absinthe.

 

“’Chetta, this really is too much!”

 

“Nonsense!” trilled the girl, flashing a winning smile at her friend, “We’ll all have a few drinks, watch a few films, unwind, and get debauched! That’s what end-of-exams parties are for!”

 

Joly blanched at the word ‘debauched’.

 

“Okay, but it’s _not_ an end-of-exams party, it’s a celebration of the _last week_ of exams. There are still exams. And I for one would like to still be alive to sit them!”

 

“Spoil sport,” Musichetta pouted, unscrewing the cap from a bottle of cheap rosé wine and pouring herself a large glassful.

 

“I’m not trying to- I just…”

 

“What is all this?” came a disapproving voice from behind them. Enjolras had just padded into the kitchen in bare feet, grey sweatpants, and an oversized red t-shirt, yet still he managed to glare intimidating at the small army of bottles arrayed across his kitchen bench.

 

Luckily, at that moment Jehan pushed open the unlocked front door and bounded joyfully in to defuse the situation.

 

“So I’ve got Moulin Rouge, The Notebook, Titanic, Ten Things I Hate About You, every Disney film made since 1937, and… American Psycho. But that one belongs to ‘Parnasse.”

 

Even Enjolras cracked a smile at the beaming poet’s eccentric DVD collection.

 

“So what should we start with? Ooh, ‘Chetta brought booze!”

 

Jehan immediately picked up one of the bottles of absinthe and held it up to the light, admiring the bright colour of the liquid.

 

“Yes, well, thank you, ‘ _Chetta-_ ”, Enjolras began scathingly, but he was interrupted by the simultaneous appearance of Courfeyrac in the kitchen wearing nothing but a towel, and the arrival of Combeferre with his arms weighed down by six heavy-looking carrier bags.

 

“Give us a hand?” the philosopher called from the threshold, and both Enjolras and the still dripping Courfeyrac moved to help their friend.

 

“Oh, um… Snap?” said Combeferre sheepishly as he pulled out three nice bottles of red wine and placed them on the bench alongside Musichetta’s rather larger offering.

 

Enjolras made a noise of dissent that was quickly silenced by Courfeyrac popping the lid off a bottle of beer with only his belly button.

 

Joly noticed the way Musichetta’s bright eyes lingered on Courfeyrac and wished that the uninhibited law student had some small amount of shame about showing off his toned, tanned, and dripping wet body in mixed company. Musichetta’s looks had not escaped Courfeyrac’s notice either, and he flashed her a grin and a suggestive wink. Musichetta, rather than blush, or giggle, or look away, simply returned his smile with a knowing look that sent an inexplicable bolt of heat through Joly’s gut and made the medical student turn away.

 

“Let’s get this party started!” proclaimed Courfeyrac, throwing himself down on one of the sofas, still wearing only the loose towel around his slim hips.

 

“Courfeyrac, _please_ ,” Combeferre began, pinching the bridge of his nose above his glasses in a gesture of resignation.

 

“Courfeyrac!” came a scandalised voice from the front door, “There are ladies present!”

 

Marius was clutching a case of beers and clearly trying to block Cosette’s view through the doorway as she giggled and pushed past him, waving coquettishly at Courfeyrac as the shameless student laughed from the sofa.

 

“Now this is just getting _ridiculous_ ,” snapped Enjolras at the newly arrived beers, “It’s a movie night, not a symposium! Some of us have exams next week that we would like to pass, and- ”

 

No one was listening to Enjolras’ objections. Musichetta was filling her second glass of rosé and pouring a fresh one for Cosette; Marius had returned red-faced from his bedroom with a pair of sweatpants which he threw to Courfeyrac; Joly and Combeferre were assiduously sorting the procured snack foods into cupboards and fridge shelves; and Jehan was texting busily with a grin on his face and a glass of vodka and orange juice in his hand.

 

By the time Bahorel, Feuilly, and Bossuet stumbled boisterously in a few moments later, followed by an eye-rolling Éponine, the blonde law student had removed himself to his bedroom in a huff. The trio of boys had clearly been drinking already and they applied themselves immediately to the fridgeful of beers, while Éponine closeted herself in a corner of the kitchen with Musichetta, Cosette, Jehan, and a second bottle of rosé.

 

“I love your shirt Jehan!” said Cosette approvingly, her fashion-conscious eye roving over the student’s latest androgynous ensemble.

 

“Thanks! ‘Parnasse got it for me.”

 

The word ‘bought’ was carefully avoided by Jehan, who was not so in love with his absent boyfriend that he overlooked his bad habits, and who knew better than to try to change them.

 

Eventually the frantic hubbub of greetings died away into a happy buzz of conversation, as one by one glasses were filled and refilled and people settled down onto the large L-shaped sofa and the two smaller couches that looked onto the wall-mounted flat screen TV.

 

Joly perched next to Musichetta at the end of the L-sofa’s long arm, holding a strongly mixed gin and tonic that she had smilingly pressed into his hand. She was throwing back her fifth glass of wine and was getting decidedly giggly with Jehan on her other side, who no sooner than he had sat down leapt up again to greet Montparnasse, who arrived late wearing a sly smile and withdrew a large bottle of vodka from inside his leather jacket, still with its security tag attached.

 

The quick-fingered dandy settled down between Musichetta and Éponine with Jehan cradled happily between his outstretched legs. Wordlessly, Montparnasse passed the vodka to Éponine who liberally spiked her glass of wine with the spirit without interrupting her conversation with Cosette to her right. The blonde was sipping a vodka and lemonade as she lounged against Marius in the elbow of the L-shaped sofa, the law student more interested in reading the backs of Jehan’s romantic DVDs than in his rapidly warming beer. To Marius’ right, on the short arm of the L, had assembled Bahorel, Feuilly, and Bossuet, who seemed to have invented a new drinking game that involved a lot of shouting and the flinging of numerous bottle caps at one another.

 

One of these projectiles soared over to the battered three-seater wedged beside the massive L-shaped monstrosity and hit Combeferre as he desperately disentangled himself from a hysterically laughing (and still shirtless) Courfeyrac, who was seemingly already drunk enough to be groping his flatmate in public. The third sofa – a loveseat with hardly enough room for two people – had been eschewed by all as it had a limited view of the TV and the worst access to the kitchen for further drinks and snacks.

 

Various shouts bounced around the room as people took votes on which film to watch first;

 

“Titanic!”

 

“Moulin Rouge!”

 

“Scarface!”

 

“Bahorel, that isn’t one of the options…”

 

“Fight Club!”

 

“Bahorel, seriously- ”

 

“Black Hawk Down!”

 

“Saving Private Ryan!” joined in Éponine laughingly.

 

“Hardcore gay pornography!” added Courfeyrac as Marius blushed.

 

“Die Hard!”

 

“Rambo!”

 

“Gladiator!”

 

“American Psycho!”

 

“Actually, we _do_ have that one…”

 

“The Notebook!”

 

“Bambi!”

 

Eventually a blind vote was arranged by Combeferre and surprisingly The Little Mermaid won by a landslide. Drinks were replenished, bowls of sweets and popcorn were produced, the lights were dimmed, and the movie began to tumultuous applause from the increasingly rowdy boxer, carpenter, and drop out who quickly set to building a replica of King Neptune’s underwater castle with their empty beer bottles.

 

When Enjolras finally emerged from his bedroom looking stern, the rabble in his living room had settled into a relatively peaceful audience, with the exception of Montparnasse who was splitting his time between swigging straight vodka and worrying Jehan’s neck with his teeth as the smaller boy tried to swat him away while mouthing along to the lyrics of every song.

 

Enjolras resignedly took an unopened beer from the forest of bottles on the low table between the sofas and settled himself on the unoccupied loveseat with the obscured view.

 

By the time the end credits rolled Enjolras was three beers down and was laughingly directing Bossuet’s abortive attempts to add battlements (“ _Bottle_ -ments,” the ex-student proudly proclaimed) to the beer bottle castle.

 

A loud crash rent the room as Bossuet’s clumsy hand demolished half of the castle at one blow.

 

“Oops…”

 

“All in favour of Bossuet’s banishment from Beer-topia?” called Bahorel with a serious look on his bruised and stubbled face.

 

Enjolras, Feuilly, and Courfeyrac all chimed in, “Aye!”

 

Bossuet hung his head with a mock sigh of dejection and said, “Fine. I’ll just go sit with my _real_ friends!” and he flounced off to the other end of the immense sofa, settling himself next to Joly and Musichetta. Something strange seemed to pass between the dropout and the barmaid as two sets of dark brown eyes caught one another, then suddenly Musichetta stood, walked purposefully to the kitchen, and called back from the doorway, “Joly, sweetie, come help me with some drinks?”

 

“Sure,” smiled the tipsy medical student, his exam anxieties washed away by alcohol as he lurched after Musichetta to the kitchen. She had her back already to him when he entered and was rattling around the empty bottles on the bench top. Upon hearing his footfalls however she spun around, clutching a bottle of tequila, a hastily sliced lime, and a salt shaker.

 

“Oh no,” Joly begged, laughing.

 

“Oh yes!” she returned with a wicked grin, “ _Body shots!_ Lie down here,” she pointed to the bench, which she had partially cleared of bottles.

 

Joly continued laughing, “No way! Do you have any idea how much beer has already been spilled there? It’s sticky, it’s unhygienic, and I’m not going to spend the rest of the night smelling like a brewery!”

 

Musichetta rolled her eyes, “Ugh, _fine_ , I’ll do it,” and she hoisted herself onto the counter, finding it quite as sticky as Joly had predicted but not caring as she licked her hand then smeared salt down her neck, placed a wedge of lime in her mouth, and arranged the shot glass in her ample cleavage.

 

Joly was staring at her slack jawed; of course he was, _everyone_ stared at Musichetta and that was the way she liked it. Like Courfeyrac, she oozed with open sexuality and was shameless about her voluptuous body, all darkly bronzed skin, rounded hips, and a generous bust that earned enough tips to double her weekly pay cheque. Her long hair hung in a waterfall of loose, dark brown waves over her shoulder, perfectly complementing her dusky complexion, and her strapless dress betrayed no tan lines, giving Joly an uncomfortable mental image of her on the beach…

 

Suddenly the emboldening power of the beers that he had gulped earlier seemed to dissipate, and Joly felt his usual, absurd shyness around his old friend’s blatant sexuality.

 

“Come on, darling,” she purred, dark eyes half-lidded and sultry, “One shot won’t hurt.”

 

Joly didn’t notice Bossuet enter the kitchen behind him as he sank the shot from between Musichetta’s breasts and desperately bit down on the lime held between her lips to keep from choking on the torrid liquid.

 

**

 

Just as the second movie was beginning (Ten Things I Hate About You; when Jehan had taken a bathroom break Montparnasse had threatened to knife anyone who voted for another Disney film) there was a knock at the front door, and as Enjolras was closest he was despatched to answer it.

 

Grantaire stood on the threshold, and he took one look at the beer in Enjolras’ hand and grinned, “Sorry I’m late.”

 

“No problem,” replied Enjolras, his smile belying his nerves; would Grantaire remember any of what had passed between them at the Corinthe? Stepping back to allow the other boy into the house Enjolras was suddenly very aware of his terribly causal and not entirely clean state of dress. In contrast, Grantaire smelled of aftershave and fresh laundry, and Enjolras caught himself thinking that the artist actually looked better with a bit of stubble, rather than clean-shaven as he was now.

 

“Unless your favourite movie is The Little Mermaid, in which case you’re sadly too late.”

 

Grantaire chuckled, sending a discomfiting flutter into Enjolras’ chest.

 

“I assume ‘Chetta brought drinks?”

 

The flutter turned into an oddly irritated clenching, but as Enjolras was holding a half-empty beer himself he felt unable to make any comment.

 

“Yeah, in the kitchen.”

 

“Excellent.”

 

Grantaire made a beeline for the kitchen while Enjolras returned to the living room feeling conflicted, something that he seemed to feel a lot around the chain-smoking, borderline alcoholic artist with _~~beautiful~~_ cynical eyes.

 

Grantaire returned from the kitchen a few moments later to a general murmur of greeting, and seeing that the only unoccupied space was beside Enjolras on the loveseat he settled himself there.

 

Enjolras’ eyebrows shot so far up that they were in danger of disappearing entirely into his hairline; Grantaire had decided against easing himself into the drinking with a beer or two, even seemed to have decided against using a glass, as he clutched the neck of a wine bottle and brought it to his lips.

 

Even more alarming was their sudden proximity. Squeezed together on the too-small two-seater, Grantaire’s thigh nestled against Enjolras’, and every time the artist lifted the bottle to drink he brushed against the student. The sensation was oddly compelling and unsettling and halfway to arousing, and against his better judgement it drove Enjolras to accept a glass of wine offered to him by Marius.

 

By the middle of the film Enjolras began to sink under the combined somnambular effects of his heavy workload, lack of sleep, the liquid depressant, and a warm body pressed against his own. He fought to keep his blue eyes open but they seemed to droop of their own accord, and soon the movie’s soundtrack became intermingled with the voices of his friends, his professors, his internal monologue, his family… Sound swirled through his head, blurring the divisions between reality and dreamscape, and then he was sleeping deeply, dreamless and peaceful.

 

Grantaire had been casual with his closeness to Enjolras, but privately each brush of their legs, each bump of their elbows, had thrilled him. He remembered none of the night that was preying so heavily on the student’s mind, but he was drinking more quickly and carelessly than he usually would in front of Enjolras just for the excuse of rubbing his arm against the student’s shoulder as he raised the bottle to his lips. He had taken Enjolras’ silence and lack of attempt to move away as tight-lipped resignation, and he was internally embarrassed by the happiness that such a small concession gave him. But now that the bottle was empty and the movie was finishing Grantaire realised that Enjolras was still unmoving, and he chanced a look at that handsome, impassive face.

 

To his surprise, Enjolras’ clear, blue eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open, as his usually proud head lolled back against the sofa, a stray lock of golden hair spilling gracefully across one cheek. His face was tilted towards Grantaire, and without thinking the artist reached up with rough fingers and brushed the hair out of Enjolras’ eyes. As soon as he had done it Grantaire snatched his hand back and glanced around the crowded room furtively, blushing as if he had done something much more intimate to the sleeping law student.

 

Enjolras made a tiny noise in his slumber and unconsciously pressed himself closer into the warmth of Grantaire’s body, his head falling softly on the artist’s shoulder. Grantaire felt another irrational stab of panic seize him, and again he cast a look around the room; everyone was too busy arguing over which film to watch next to notice the two latecomers cosied up together in the marginalised loveseat.

 

Once he was sure that they were unobserved, Grantaire became bold enough to nuzzle his face lightly into the waves of Enjolras’ blonde hair, unwashed and slightly tangled but still somehow smelling clean and reminding the artist irrevocably of a halo around that pale, sculpted face.

 

Soon Grantaire’s eyelids began to droop as well, and he gladly let himself drift into sleep with a contented smile on his lips. A few hours later when the others began to say their goodbyes and filter out of the living room, the artist’s head was still resting on top of Enjolras’ and their hands were inexplicably tangled together, one of Enjolras’ arms thrown across Grantaire’s abdomen in a simple gesture of closeness. Jehan carefully draped a flowery blanket over the sleeping pair and turned off the lights with a happy sigh.

 

**

 

After two more shots had disappeared down the medical student’s throat and one each for the barmaid and the dropout, Musichetta grabbed the front of Joly’s polo shirt and dragged him with her into the nearest bedroom as Bossuet followed with a grin and closed the door quietly behind them all.

 

Musichetta was still gripping Joly’s shirt as she kissed him passionately, Joly returning the kiss with just as much fervour, his hands buried in the barmaid’s long, dark tresses as Bossuet slid himself behind the student, large hands teasing up and down the boy’s sides and smiling mouth kissing up and down his pale neck.

 

Joly writhed happily between the two, pressing himself against Musichetta’s soft curves while permitting Bossuet’s explorative hands to map his body through his suddenly frustrating clothing. Musichetta’s hands were twisting in his mousy hair, then gently cupping his face as she murmured against his lips, “Ah darling, you’re so beautiful… We’re going to make you feel so good… You deserve to feel good, you sweet little thing.”

 

Bossuet’s hands meanwhile were working their way lower, gripping Joly’s hips and pulling him back against the black boy’s groin, blunt nails scratching at the bare skin revealed by the medical student’s rucked up shirt, and once or twice dipping enticingly below the waistband of his jeans.

 

Joly moaned against Musichetta’s lips as she brushed light fingers over the growing bulge in his trousers, and he unconsciously ground himself back against Bossuet, whose own baggy jeans were beginning to tent, and who rolled his hips into Joly with a low groan.

 

Musichetta broke the kiss but continued petting the student as she whispered, “Such a lovely boy, so sweet, so pretty, you’re going to feel so good…” and she smiled at Bossuet, nodded once and they switched places in perfect sync, leaving Joly unattended for less than a second before his mouth was taken by Bossuet’s in a rougher, more insistent kiss, and Musichetta was standing behind him, running her hands sensuously over his body, taking special care to brush teasingly over his straining crotch while whispering sultry endearments and promises in his ear.

 

Gently, her roaming hands began to fiddle with the button on Joly’s jeans, while Bossuet held him in a hard kiss, his tongue eagerly pressing into the student’s willing mouth as large hands tugged open the top few buttons on the boy’s polo shirt and explored the pale skin beneath.

 

Joly groaned into Bossuet’s mouth and rolled his hips back into Musichetta as she smoothly pulled his jeans down, leaving him in only his boxer-briefs; he felt his skin touch bare skin and realised that she had slipped out of her dress and was now naked behind him, her soft, brown skin a bronzed blur in the corner of his eye.

 

Bossuet grinned and pulled the student’s shirt over his head, making Joly gasp as Musichetta dragged her painted fingernails down his freshly bared back, leaving pink marks on the pale skin. Bossuet began to kiss slyly down Joly’s neck, placing little nips and licks as he went, while Musichetta stroked the student’s responsive cock lightly through his briefs.

 

“You’re going to enjoy this,” purred Musichetta hotly in Joly’s ear, as Bossuet’s kisses descended over the pale boy’s torso, “He’s very good with his mouth.”

 

Joly shivered with pleasure as Musichetta scraped her nails over his nipples, then pinched them lightly until the nubs were standing out as proudly as his cock, which Bossuet had now reached.

 

The darker boy had dropped to his knees in front of Joly and was kissing playfully along his thighs, large brown eyes staring up at the groaning medical student with a wicked glint.

 

The sight of Bossuet on his knees trailing open-mouthed kisses in a teasing path to his throbbing cock made Joly groan and grind back into Musichetta, who took his chin and pulled him into a hungry kiss. Then Bossuet began to mouth at Joly’s erection through the briefs, dragging a hot tongue along the thin material and sucking lightly at the head as Joly gasped and bucked into the sensation.

 

Musichetta began kissing along Joly’s neck and back, her fingers still tugging at his nipples and scraping light pink marks down his torso as Bossuet took his time sucking Joly through his underwear, enjoying the gasps and groans coming from the medical student.

 

“You guys, oh god… Bossuet, please… _please_ , just- ”

 

Joly was never one to be terribly vocal in the bedroom. Usually he was a little too shy to articulate exactly what he was feeling or craving, but as Musichetta licked a long, slow stripe from his shoulder to his ear, and Bossuet blew a cool breath onto his boxer-clad cock, the material wet with pre-come and saliva, Joly groaned unashamedly, “Just take me already!”

 

Both of his seducers laughed delightedly and Bossuet made quick work of removing Joly’s underwear, allowing the student’s already leaking cock to spring free. Bossuet wrapped a large hand around the organ immediately, guiding the tip into his waiting mouth and swirling his tongue over and around the head, lapping up the droplets of pre-come glistening there.

 

Musichetta was sucking hotly at the juncture of Joly’s neck and shoulder while Bossuet continued to tongue at the sensitive head of his cock, and the medical student’s eyes fluttered closed as he lost himself in erotic sensation; the wet urgency around his cock, the hot, sweet touches all over his skin, the humming and groaning that could be coming from any one of them, and the knowledge that he was being so carefully ravished by two terribly attractive and attentive lovers. It was enough to make his head spin, and as Bossuet surged forward and took Joly’s full length in his mouth, the student’s knees almost buckled and he was only saved by Musichetta’s firm grip on his hips and her whisper in his ear, “Shh my sweet, I _told_ you he was good…”

 

Joly’s hands were resting heavily on the back of Bossuet’s bald head, and he was trying desperately to stop himself from forcing the other man down further on his cock as the dropout moved up and down in a steady rhythm, sliding his tongue along the underside of the shaft and sucking harder with each thrust.

 

Joly was groaning loudly now, and when Musichetta’s delicate fingers stroked gently across his lower lip it seemed natural to take them into his mouth and try to replicate Bossuet’s tongue motions along them. The student was falling into unthinking ecstasy as he fellated Musichetta’s fingers - with his mouth occupied and his cock well attended to - so when Musichetta slid one sly, wet finger between his ass cheeks, the shock caused his entire body to convulse then go rigid, and his blissfully closed eyes snapped open.

 

“’Chetta! What are you doing?” gasped Joly, his voice sounding needier than he had intended it to thanks to a particularly enthusiastic swallow from Bossuet, who managed to lodge Joly’s cock entirely in his throat without gagging.

 

“Relax, darling,” soothed Musichetta, running her fingers up and down the crease between his cheeks teasingly, but avoiding the clenched ring of muscle until he was less tense, “I know what I’m doing.”

 

Joly was no virgin with either men or women, but he had never been opened up by a girl before. It seemed perverse, dirty, _wrong_ , although it was all of those things in a way that sent a dizzying rush of blood to his groin…

 

Bossuet pulled away from Joly’s cock just long enough to agree with a wink, “It’s true, she knows what she’s doing,” then began toying with Joly’s shaft as if it were an obscene lollipop, dragging his lips along the length of it and swirling his tongue around the head.

 

Joly was still a little unsure, but his body was relaxing again thanks to Bossuet’s ministrations, even as he worried vaguely about checking the state of Musichetta’s fingernails before allowing her to penetrate him…

 

A second later all hesitation flew out of his mind as she stroked one slick finger over his entrance and his breath hitched as his hips canted forward, thrusting into Bossuet’s mouth as the other boy groaned gladly. She pressed against him with gentle firmness until the muscle accepted the intrusion and she slid inside easily, expertly.

 

She began to work her finger in and out, curling it as she did so, seeking out that one spot that was sure to make the student relax into her touch. After a few patient moments she found it, making him yelp and assuring Joly once and for all that Musichetta did indeed know what she was doing.

 

With a final playful suck and an obscene pop, Bossuet let Joly’s cock slide from his lips. He stood and quickly stripped off his singlet, revealing a toned chest emblazoned with a tribal tattoo of an eagle with wings outstretched over his pectoral muscles, as well as a handsome collection of bruises and scrapes in varying stages of healing.

 

His baggy, patched jeans were shucked off just as quickly, and his leaking cock sprang free, unhindered by boxers or briefs. He fumbled in the pocket of his discarded trousers for a moment and came up with lube and two condoms, which he placed on the bedside cabinet as he mounted the bed.

 

Musichetta withdrew her teasing finger slowly, drawing a whimper out of Joly as she steered him over to the bed, Bossuet watching and stroking himself with a lubricated hand.

 

Joly shakily lowered himself onto the bed and Musichetta cooed, “Get yourself comfortable sweetheart, let me know when you’re ready,” as she slicked her fingers more thoroughly with the lube.

 

Joly obeyed, lying down on his stomach and smiling at the sight of Bossuet slowly pumping himself, the other boy’s cock thick and glistening enticingly. Musichetta settled down behind Joly, spreading his legs gently and seating herself between them before massaging his buttocks.

 

“Are you ready sweetie?”

 

“Mmm,” hummed Joly contentedly, tipping his hips back to allow Musichetta easier access and rubbing his cock against the sheets in delicious friction.

 

“So precious,” murmured Musichetta lovingly before pressing one finger back inside the student, who moaned and pushed back against her hand.

 

Musichetta quickly added a second slick finger, making Joly groan even louder as she stretched him carefully, teasing him inside and out with fingers and tongue, hooking and pressing her digits until she again managed to scrape across that spot that made him yell with pleasure and jerk his hips back onto her hand. She smiled lazily and continued stroking him with a third finger, building him up until the student was keening with need and rutting desperately against the mattress.

 

Bossuet too was getting increasingly frustrated as he tugged at himself, watching Joly thrashing about and moaning at the tips of Musichetta’s nimble fingers.

 

Finally Musichetta’s hand slid away and as Joly groaned at the sudden emptiness she soothed, “ _Now_ , my darling, I think you are ready.”

 

The whimpering student did not have to wait long before Bossuet took over where Musichetta had left off, strong hands gripping thin hips and hauling Joly up onto his knees, his back clutched against Bossuet’s firm chest as the other boy’s cock slid teasingly between his cheeks.

 

Musichetta was now face to face with the student and she kissed Joly lightly on the lips, allowing him to run grasping hands along her body, pinching at her nipples and scratching down her back as he deepened the kiss with frustrated passion. She soon pulled away however, dark eyes twinkling mischievously as she positioned herself on her hands and knees in front of the student, inciting him in a husky voice, “Come on sweet one, now it’s your turn to make _us_ feel good.”

 

Bossuet nudged Joly forward encouragingly, and the student groaned as his throbbing cock rubbed against Musichetta’s wet and ready slit. So aroused that he could barely think, Joly moaned as Bossuet’s expert hand reached around and slid a condom over his twitching cock. A second crackle of plastic assured the medical student that Bossuet too was sheathed, and without any further preamble he grabbed Musichetta’s round hips and pushed deeply into her, gasping at how wet she was, how her muscles clenched around him, how she let out a high pitched mewl of satisfaction and pushed back against him, begging for more.

 

Joly quickly established a rhythm that made Musichetta’s moans fill the room; he was fucking her deep and fast, and she was rubbing herself as he did so.

 

Bossuet continued to rub against Joly’s ass without entering him as the student worked up his pace with Musichetta, but when he could take it no more the ex law student grabbed Joly’s thrusting hips and pushed himself inside the other boy, groaning long and low as he did so.

 

“Fuck!” shouted Joly raggedly, and Musichetta knew from the stutter in the rhythm of his hips that Bossuet had joined in. Joly’ thrusts became shallow and jerky as Bossuet eased in and out of him slowly, giving the boy time to adjust, so Musichetta took control and began rocking herself back onto Joly’s cock, still touching herself as she took what she needed from the groaning student.

 

Musichetta had been as good as her word; Joly was well prepared and soon Bossuet was thrusting hard without fear of hurting the student, who was clenching hotly around his cock and forcing Bossuet towards his climax sooner than he would have liked. The dropout’s hips snapped arhythmically, slightly clumsily as in everything he did, and he let out a breathless groan of a laugh as he said, “Sorry man, I’m a little out of sync,” when Joly’s thrusting into Musichetta threw his pattern off somewhat.

 

“Just shut up and fuck me!” grunted Joly through gritted teeth, trying to distract himself from Musichetta’s keening wails and his own ragged panting as he fucked her, and fucked himself back onto Bossuet’s cock, his orgasm rushing towards him too soon, _too soon_.

 

Musichetta was almost screaming now, and Bossuet knew from experience that she was close to the edge, with Joly driving into her and her own hand rubbing her clit frantically. The larger boy grunted as he pushed deeply into the student, hard enough to make him yelp and jerk his hips into Musichetta, who let out a keening shriek and took up a mantra of, “Fuck me, fuck me _harder_ , please fuck me…”; Bossuet and Joly both obeyed.

 

Joly and Musichetta came almost at the same moment, she with a yell of ecstasy and he with a long, low moan. Bossuet snapped his hips into Joly in a quick, punishing rhythm as the boy writhed through his orgasm. The darker boy came with a grunted litany of curse words, buried deep inside his panting, groaning friend, who was in his turn collapsed over Musichetta’s shuddering back, as all three caught their breath in ragged gasps.

 

Somehow, the trio disentangled themselves from one another, the boys disposed of their condoms, and then as if by mutual agreement they curled up again together on the bed and fell promptly asleep, their sweat-slicked bodies providing adequate warmth for one another as they reposed on top of the rumpled bedding.

 

**

 

“I wouldn’t wake him,” smirked Courfeyrac early the next morning, bleary-eyed and clutching a steaming mug of coffee as a rumpled looking Combeferre entered the kitchen.

 

“Why not?” asked Combeferre, glancing at Enjolras and Grantaire who were both still asleep and entwined on the loveseat, “He’s wasting valuable revision time, and you know how he gets when his schedule is thrown off.”

 

“Believe me, let them sleep. It’s a kindness.”

 

“Why?” persisted Combeferre, a sudden feeling of foreboding clutching at his churning stomach as Courfeyrac grinned wickedly.

 

“Well… Let’s just say that last night Enjolras’ bed was finally christened.”

 

“What? But he spent the whole night… Oh my god. _Who_?”

 

“Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta.”

 

Combeferre’s jaw dropped.

 

“I know, right? Lucky boy. I walked in just now and saw them all naked and tangled together. Nearly had to have a wank over them.”

 

“Oh my god Courfeyrac, do you have any idea what Enjolras is going to- No. _No_ , I am not dealing with this right now. I’m going back to bed,” and with a last panicky glance at the sleeping pair on the loveseat, Combeferre removed himself from the danger zone.

 

Courfeyrac carefully placed his half-empty mug among the array of empty bottles and followed his friend, saying matter-of-factly, “Good plan, I’ll come too. I’m still half hard thinking about the fun Joly must have had last night!”

 

“There will be no _coming_ in my room,” Combeferre glared as Courfeyrac caught up with him in the hallway, “I’m too hungover for this.”

 

“Aw, you say that now,” murmured Courfeyrac, pressing the noticeable bulge in his boxer shorts against Combeferre’s hip, “But I bet you’ll feel better once your dick is halfway down my throat, hmm?”

 

Combeferre’s eyes widened, then squeezed shut again behind his glasses, and he sighed resignedly, “Alright fine, that does sound appealing… But you’ve got to keep quiet this time, everyone else is still asleep.”

 

“You’ll have to make me,” goaded Courfeyrac, licking his lips with an obscene grin as he closed the door behind him.


End file.
